Writing Does Not A Writer Make

Posted on 14/11/2023 by Grumpa Joe

Many friends ask me to write something for them and preface the request with “You like to write.” My Lions Club will assign writing duties to me even when I am reluctant to do them. These requests have given me the idea that I may be a writer. When I analyzed my life and my interests, I learned this about myself: even in high school, I liked to write stories. In college, I hated classes about English authors (Shakespeare, Keats, Yeats), but I loved classes that required writing essays.

Ten Best English Authors

When I transferred from Saint Joseph’s College in Indiana to the University of Illinois, I had to prove English grammar and punctuation proficiency by writing a qualifying essay. The subject matter was to be chosen by me. In my classes at St. Joe, the Prof suggested we list things that interested us and then pick a topic to write about. He also indicated that you can shift to something else once you begin writing about the topic. I use this technique often. The same professor encouraged me to continue writing by selecting my essays to read before the class. Talk about an ego boost; he knew how to supercharge mine.

I got into the University of Illinois without having to take remedial English. Because I transferred to advance my career in engineering, I had few opportunities to write creative pieces, but I worked overtime writing lab reports. After a successful career in Engineering, I chose to start this blog. Writing became creative again, but my writing sounded like lab reports.

After retiring from the engineering world, one of my goals was to write my biography. I began by making a list of memories. SIngular recollections of things that happened to me, people I met, or projects I worked on. The next step was to write about one of the topics from my list by hand in a composition notebook. I filled three notebooks with stuff and realized what a tremendous job it was to transcribe all those cursive words into a word processor. I hired my former secretary, who could read my handwriting, to do the job. She was a very dynamic and talented lady. I had to warn her not to change what I wrote. I suspected she would rewrite everything to make it readable and sensible. She did exactly as asked. Later, when I began to edit the document, I realized what a mistake I made by not allowing her to correct my shitty writing. That is when I researched AI programs and bought one to help me become a better writer.

Biography-Jun-e-or

Using the AI editing program, I could write a readable biography. After completion, I stopped using the tool because I thought my writing had improved. When I began writing my book recently, I realized I needed help again, and now I know for sure that I am not a natural-born writer like I thought I was. I don’t have enough years left on this earth to learn to write as well as I do in my mind, but I will die trying.

Filed under: Biography, Memories | Tagged: , , | 1 Comment »

Pencil Stubs

Posted on 16/10/2023 by Grumpa Joe

Yesterday, I started a new Intarsia project. It’s been a few months since I completed ‘Libre’ the Bald Eagle, and my weary bones yearn for the woodshop. My projects always begin with a model. Usually, it is a photograph of something that moves me. This time, the subject is a piece of art I bought on one of our trips to Arizona. It is a three-dimensional, life-size rendering of a Lotus leaf. The artist found the leaf in the Far East and then used it to cast a mold. He then filled the mold with an epoxy ceramic material to form a hard rendering. On this casting, he applied various colors. While the paint was still fluid, he spun the casting to move the paint outward from the center. The effect is similar to that of a tie-dyed shirt, with the colors spread through the various veins within the leaf. It has been one of my favorite pieces, and I have promised to give it to my stepdaughter as part of an inheritance from her mother.

The next step in my process is to make a paper pattern of the model. In this case, I used a digital photo of the artwork and projected the image using my computer. I taped a large sheet of vellum paper to the screen and began tracing. I dug around in my desk drawer for a pencil and found a Number 2 yellow wood Faber Castel with an eraser that is petrified to the end. The pencil had been sharpened using a hand crank sharpener, giving the tip a perfect conical shape. The lead was rather blunt from prior use, and it needed resharpening. That is when my brain kicked out a memory from seventy-five years ago. I was ten and using a similar yellow pencil to do my homework. My Grandpa Jim was living with us for the winter and sat in the armchair reading his four-week-old Hungarian newspaper in the living room. The memory is somewhat sketchy about why I threw a tantrum to get my pencil sharpened, but it needed sharpening. Grampa Jim pulled out his pocket knife and chipped away to give me a stubby-looking sharp point. My problem was that I insisted on having a perfect machine-sharpened conical point. He shook his head and let me go about screaming and hollering for a perfectly conical point. I left him to carry on with my mother for a conical point. After she ignored my demands, I returned to the living room, and Grandpa handed me a pencil with a perfectly conical point. He had taken the time to carve the wood into a perfect cone with lead to match. I was shocked, amazed, and satisfied that he had done it for me.

I don’t own a hand crank pencil sharpener anymore, and I didn’t even have a portable plastic jig with a blade that, when twisted around the end of a pencil, will result in a perfectly conical point, but I did find a pocket knife with a somewhat dull blade that I used to resharpen my number two yellow pencil. I hacked away the wood, scraped the carbon into a point, and traced the work while remembering Grandpa’s patience and skill with a pocket knife. It was a mellow moment.

Filed under: Aging, Grampa Jim, Hobby, Memories | Tagged: , , , | 1 Comment »

Edited By Artificial Intelligence

Posted on 04/09/2023 by Grumpa Joe

Today, I was reviewing an old computer file and came across this little piece of wisdom written by an 83-year-old woman and sent to her friend Bertha. I think it is beautiful, and her thoughts and philosophies represent my own. Currently, I am using an automated editor on all my writing, and it is installed on my computer and works on everything I write. I am learning that I don’t know when to use a comma. I thought it would be interesting to see just how the AI program would alter her words of wisdom.

First, I posted it as the old lady wrote it. Second, I reposted the same piece after letting the artificially intelligent soulless robot do its number on it. Can you tell the difference?

$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$

FIRST

This was written by an 83-year-old woman to her friend.

*The last line says it all. *

Dear Bertha,

I’m reading more and dusting less. I’m sitting in the yard and admiring the view without fussing about the weeds in the  garden. I’m spending more time with my family and friends and less time working.

Whenever possible, life should be a pattern of experiences to savor, not to endure. I’m trying to recognize these moments now and cherish them.

I’m not “saving” anything; we use our good china and crystal for every special event such as losing a pound, getting the sink unstopped, or the first Amaryllis blossom.

I wear my good blazer to the market. My theory is if I look prosperous, I can shell out $28.49 for one small bag of groceries. I’m not saving my good perfume for special parties, but wearing it for clerks in the hardware store and tellers at the bank.

“Someday” and “one of these days” are losing their grip on my vocabulary. If it’s worth seeing or hearing or doing, I want to see and hear and do it now

I’m not sure what others would’ve done had they known they wouldn’t be here for the tomorrow that we all take for granted. I think they would have called family members and a few close friends. They might have called a few former friends to apologize and mend fences for past squabbles. I like to think they would have gone out for a Chinese dinner or for whatever their favorite food was.

I’m guessing; I’ll never know.

It’s those little things left undone that would make me angry if I knew my hours were limited. Angry because I hadn’t written certain letters that I intended to write one of these days. Angry and sorry that I didn’t tell my husband and parents often enough how much I truly love them. I’m trying very hard not to put off, hold back, or save anything that would add laughter and luster to our lives. And every morning when I open my eyes, tell myself that it is special.

Every day, every minute, every breath truly is a gift from God.

If you received this, it is because someone cares for you. If you’re too busy to take the few minutes that it takes right now to forward this, would it be the first time you didn’t do the little thing that would make a difference in your relationships? I can tell you it certainly won’t be the last.

Take a few minutes to send this to a few people you care about, just to let them know that you’re thinking of them.

“People say true friends must always hold hands, but true friends don’t need to hold hands because they know the other hand will always be there.”

Life may not be the party we hoped for, but while we are here we might as well dance

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

SECOND

An 83-year-old woman wrote this to her friend.

*The last line says it all. *

Dear Bertha,

I’m reading more and dusting less. I’m sitting in the yard and admiring the view without fussing about the weeds in the garden. I spend more time with my family and friends and less time working.

Whenever possible, life should be a pattern of experiences to savor, not to endure. I’m trying to recognize these moments now and cherish them.

I’m not “saving” anything; we use our good china and crystal for every special event, such as losing a pound, getting the sink unstopped, or the first Amaryllis blossom.

I wear my good blazer to the market. My theory is if I look prosperous, I can shell out $28.49 for one small bag of groceries. I’m not saving my good perfume for special parties, but wearing it for clerks in the hardware store and tellers at the bank.

“Someday” and “one of these days” are losing their grip on my vocabulary. If it’s worth seeing or hearing or doing, I want to see and hear and do it now

I’m not sure what others would’ve done had they known they wouldn’t be here for the tomorrow that we all take for granted. They would have called family members and a few close friends. They might have called a few former friends to apologize and mend fences for past squabbles. I think they would have gone out for a Chinese dinner or whatever their favorite food was.

I’m guessing; I’ll never know.

Those little things left undone would make me angry if I knew my hours were limited. I was angry because I hadn’t written certain letters that I intended to write one of these days. Angry and sorry that I didn’t tell my husband and parents often enough how much I truly love them. I’m trying very hard not to put off, hold back, or save anything that would add laughter and luster to our lives. And every morning when I open my eyes, tell myself that it is special.

Every day, every minute, every breath truly is a gift from God.

If you received this, it is because someone cares for you. If you’re too busy to take the few minutes that it takes right now to forward this, would it be the first time you didn’t do the little thing that would make a difference in your relationships? I can tell you it certainly won’t be the last.

Take a few minutes to send this to a few people you care about to let them know that you’re thinking of them.

“People say true friends must always hold hands, but true friends don’t need to hold hands because they know the other hand will always be there.”

Life may not be the party we hoped for, but while we are here, we might as well dance

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

Truthfully, with the exception of a few more comma’s the piece reads identically the same. I was impressed that only the top line of the introduction was modified, and I don’t believe the little old lady wrote it.

Filed under: family, Memories | Tagged: , | Leave a comment »

Reignited Memories

Posted on 20/07/2023 by Grumpa Joe

The human brain works in mysterious ways. Last week my grandson called to tell us that his motorhome trip to Zion Park was terminated by a tire blowout on I-57 not thirty miles from home. It happened on an outside lane during heavy traffic, and he had to pull onto the left side shoulder. The tire change would have to be done with his ass hanging out into the fast lane. He opted for safety and called for help. Traffic backed up and the Cops called the freeway emergency trucks to tow him off the road into an accident investigation area.

All week my mind has been sending me messages about roadside dilemmas that I experienced with the family campers. In 1980 we owned a 1978 GMC van with a 405 cu in engine that had horsepower to spare. We pulled a 18 foot long Skamper camping trailer which opened up to 26 feet. We named the trailer ‘G4″, the “G” stood for “Gypsy”, and the four meant it was the our fourth camper. There is a separate story attached to each of the G series outfits, and this one will concentrate on the biggest travel trip our family of five took. That year I had accumulated over eighty hours of uncompensated work time and asked my boss if I could add the time to my three week vacation, and miraculously he agreed.

Barb and I planned to explore the National Parks of the west. My part involved getting the van and the trailer ready. Caution urged me to re-lube the trailer hubs which I did, but this meant I had to remove the wheels first. My trailer manual told me to tighten the lug nuts on the wheels, and to retighten them after a thousand miles on the road. Barb’s part was to cook meals that we could freeze and keep frozen for at least three weeks. This took a big load off her having to cook in camp. We left on a Saturday morning and headed north on I-94.

Mount Rainier above meadows of aster, lupine, paintbrush, and more near Paradise, Mount Rainier National Park, Washington, USA.

We planned a route that would take us to Theodore Roosevelt, Grand Teton, Yellowstone, Glacier, Mount Rainier, Olympia, Lassen, Redwoods, Sequoia, Yosemite, and finally the Grand Canyon, an aggressive schedule for sure. In the beginning we dreamed of staying days at each park, but that changed quickly as we realized to make it we would have to drive 500 miles every single day. When we arrived at Mount Rainier I made a decision to camp more and drive less. One of the biggest impressions we came home with were the trees along the West coast. At Mount Rainier my son and I took an after supper hike up a trail that spiraled upward. What impressed me most was the physical size of the trees growing there. From the road, or from a distance the trees look small, but from the ground they look like they extend to heaven, and a girth of five feet at the base was a baby. When we finally arrived in Redwood territory, the trees on Mount Rainier were truly babies. The girth of the General Sherman tree is at least twenty five feet, and he is at least three hundred feet tall. I never saw any greenery on this redwood because it was so high up.

We left Mount Rainier and headed for Olympia NP, but it was one of the parks I opted to pass by in order to have more quality time. We moved down the Oregon coast and stopped at several beach camp grounds along the way. We even made an emergency visit to a dentist for Barb. In southern Oregon we crossed over the mountains toward Crater lake on Lassen NP. The passage was a twisty windy two lane mountain road. They posted a rule that if you were holding up more than two cars you were to pull over and allow them to pass. I spent a good part of the ride pulling over. We finally reached Interstate 5 at 4 p.m. and there was still another hundred miles to Crater Lake. I made another decision to pass this up in favor of moving on toward the Redwoods. We boogied south on the I-five. About a half hour into the ride, I felt the van suddenly jump-up and land hard. I looked into my rear view mirror and saw a rooster tail of sparks flying off the trailer. I slowed and pulled off to a stop. The Trailer was sitting very low on the passenger side. I looked around and could not tell immediately what had happened. Then I saw it, one of the wheels on the low side was gone. It dawned on me, I never re-tightened the lug nuts. The twisty curvy mountain road had worked the nuts loose on this one wheel and it finally came off the hub. The bump I felt was the free spinning tire hitting the trailer frame to get loose. I never found the wheel. There we were in the boondocks of Northern California with one trailer wheel and four lug nuts short. Thankfully, I had a spare wheel, and I stole one lug nut from each of the remaining wheels to get back on the road. Within minutes of rolling again I sensed a new problem, I smelled rubber burning. This time I crawled under the trailer to see what was happening. When the wheel lifted the trailer to escape it came down hard and the impact of the hub against the concrete road bent the axle. The tire was rubbing on the frame and melting. We limped into a small town, probably Redding, and found a camp ground. It was Friday evening by that time, and finding help to fix the axle was nonexistent until Monday. Luckily, I was able to find a shop that could do the job, but it would take two days. We left the trailer with the fixer and checked into a motel. We spent the time sight seeing the area.

Since this event came to mind, I have recalled three more break down stories on our vacation trips pulling a camper. It has been fifty to fifty-five years that this event was tucked into the folds of my brain, and it took Jerry’s unfortunate breakdown to trigger the memory.

We drove over eight thousand miles during our five week National Park Tour and arrived home physically tired but very refreshed with memories that have lasted a lifetime. I want to do it again, but this time without the trailer, and not constrained by a five week time limit.

Filed under: Biography, Cars, family, Memories, Warm and Fuzzy | Tagged: , , , , | Leave a comment »

Dumb Luck, Or An Angel?

Posted on 29/03/2023 by Grumpa Joe

After two days of complaining about Apple and their inability to download an update without scrambling the brain in my computer the solution arrived. I had an understanding boss once who told me to go home and sleep on it, I thought he was nuts. Back then I was struggling to solve a product failure issue. We were selling stick-on clips that wouldn’t stick. I tried every trick I knew, and struck out with everything. I slept on it, and the next day I rushed to work to try an experiment that came to me in a dream. Luckily for me the experiment worked, and I was able to solve the problem. The same thing just happened to me with the idiotic brain scrambling in my Mac. Like most Eureka moments the fix was absolutely simple. Shut off the computer and re-boot in Safe Mode, a menu pops up giving choices for what to do next. Click on “reload the operating system”. This took several hours to do, but now the ugliness in the memory is gone. If only Alzheimer’s was that easy to fix.

However, if the computer was loaded with AI it would have known what to do on its own, and my brain could used it magical powers to send a more pleasurable erotic dream instead of a cheesy computer fix.

Filed under: Biography, Memories | 1 Comment »

« Previous Page — Next Page »